Chalice of Champions
by marauderette-47
Summary: The Hunger Games have returned. The Tributes have been chosen. Caspia Mellark is thrown into the arena, just like her parents before her. But this time, she has an edge. Her mother is her mentor, and Katniss Mellark will make sure that her daughter survives, no matter the odds. Not as cliche as it sounds - there is some actual depth and a storyline here. Worth a look - R&R!
1. Introduction

**Chalice of Champions**

**A Hunger Games FanFiction by marauderette-47**

**Story Disclaimer: I do not claim to own the Hunger Games series or any of its characters, locations, etc. I am not Suzanne Collins, and therefore have no rights to this magnificent story. I am making no money in the publishing of this story on this site; it is purely a work of imagination to be shared with other fans.**

* * *

**Introduction**

_I am a newer fan of The Hunger Games, but I absolutely adore it. I was left saddened by the end of the third book, and therefore set off straightaway to create more. What you see before you now is what I have come up with._

_I haven't actually finished the story yet - it's a work in progress, obviously, but support from loyal fans (and hopefully lots of reviews?) will encourage me to continue writing and update frequently. Those of you from the Harry Potter & Glee fanbases who know my track record with actually finishing a story, please trust that I am serious about this and plan to complete this story. There will be no 'breaks' and no 'hiatuses'. This story WILL happen._

_Thank you in advance for your support - Chapter One is just waiting to be read. I now re-welcome you into the world of The Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor._


	2. Chapter 1

**PART I - THE TRIBUTES**

_Chapter One_

I am not used to waking up so late on a Sunday morning, but I know why my mother has let me. After so many years of peace, my bitter ending may well be on its way in a large, steel hovercraft. I know that Effie Trinket means me no harm personally – I've met the excitable woman several times, and know that she is not capable of such a hate for me – but it is she who could be the one telling me that I must either kill or be killed in the arena – just like my mother.

It's the first year that the Hunger Games have returned since the war – my mother never used to talk about it, but ever since the public announcement that President Storm made six months ago, she's been so on edge. People from the Capitol came to her personally, and asked her – along with Haymitch Abernathy – to be the mentors for the two tributes for District 12. I knew that she did not want to accept the offer – it took much convincing on my father's part for her to even consider it. They made me leave the room during the conversation, but I sat outside the door to listen anyways. I had my ear pressed against the wood, and was barely able to make out the words, _"What if one of them was chosen?" _before my mother realized that I was probably listening and she moved herself and my father further into the room that was concealed by the door.

I did not understand for a good long time why they didn't ask my father to be a mentor as well before I found out that they did – but, unlike my mother, he did not accept. When I asked him why, all he said was, "I would not leave both of my children without one of their parents."

I sigh as I realize that it is probably time for me to get up. My mother has yet to come in and rouse me, but I know that it might take a very long time for her to work up the courage to. She's had a hard time looking me in the eye over the course of the past few weeks. She must be so worried that my name will be called – she must fear for my life, which is so precious to both of us. I know that she must fear for Luchi too, but – since he is only twelve – his name will only be entered once. At sixteen, I am much more at risk of being called to be an _ever so honored _Tributefor the 76th Hunger Games.

I slowly get myself out of bed, shivering slightly as I remove the warm, wool blankets from me. Last night, I hadn't bothered to change for bed, so I was still in the sundress I'd worn for dinner. I stumble my way into my bathroom, and stare into the large, guild mirror attached to the wall across from the shower. The young woman who stares back at me bears no resemblance to the reflection I have become so used to seeing over the years. She is still beautiful, as many have told me I am, but she looks like a nervous wreck. If there is one thing that I never am, it is nervous. Usually. But it seems today not even that can hide. The girl's normally luscious mahogany locks are a tangled mess on top of her pale face, and her blue eyes are hollow. She literally appears like the walking dead.

I sigh, and turn on my tap. I splash cold water on my face, and then dry it with a towel. There. That's a little better. I run a wire brush through my hair, turning the rat's nest into a waterfall of beautiful brown. I do not bother to yet change my clothes or design my hair in any special way – I know that my mother will wish to take care of that herself. With nothing else that I am able to do to prepare, I exit my bathroom and re-enter my own room, where I see my father making my bed.

"You didn't have to do that," I tell him, reaching my hand out as if to help him. He smiles a little, but not enough to convince me that he's okay with everything that is going on today. He is just as upset about the Hunger Games as my mother is – he just has a different way of showing it. He's not one for brooding silence like mother – he is perfectly fine with voicing his feelings aloud.

"It's alright," he says, tucking the last corner of my comforter under the mattress. "I'm already finished. Thanks, though."

"What time is it?" I wonder, peering through the window. The sun has risen, but is not yet in the center point of the sky – it is before noon, of that I am sure.

"Just barely ten o'clock," my father replies, taking a seat on the bed he has just made. I join him there, curling up to him like my mother does sometimes. He wraps his strong, warm arm around my shoulders, and squeezes lightly. He sighs, and leans his head over to give me a kiss on the forehead. He has done this action so many times in the past, but it seems different now – now, he is doing it more carefully. Because now could be the very last time he ever does.

"How is she?" I manage in barely a whisper. Father doesn't have to ask for any kind of specification – he knows that I am referring to my mother. I haven't seen her since she went to sleep last night. She went to bed unusually early, I think because she's so nervous. And why shouldn't she be? Her only daughter and her only son are at risk of entering something so terrifying it's unreal. I'm scared as well, but I've tried to stay upbeat for Luchi's sake – I love my little brother more than anyone else in the world, and I refuse to let him be afraid of the Capitol _or _the Hunger Games, though there has been little reason for him to fear the latter until now.

"Stable," replies my father, and I know it is a lie. But I can't even be angry at him for it – after all, he is lying only for my sake. He doesn't want me to worry about my mother when I should be worrying about myself. But I've resolved that there is nothing I can do about the Reaping – I did not sign up for tesserae, so my name is only entered in the glass bowl five times. I've forced myself to understand since December that if I am chosen, then that's that, and there is nothing I can do. "She's asked me to give you this," my father continues, reaching over to his right. He hands me a pile of pink cloth, which he unfolds to show that it is a dress. It must be one of Cinna's new creations, because I have never seen it before. It is a simple dress, cut right above my knees and right below my neck. Its hem is laced with gold, and I can tell by the fabric that it is not cheap. It's stunning, but I don't understand why mother didn't just come in to give it to me herself. I thought that the preparation for today would be something special that we could share together, but that is plainly not the case. What if mother doesn't come to see me at all? What if the only time I see her this morning is when she is onstage in the square? When it is mine or Luchi's name that Effie Trinket could call out?

"Why didn't she come this morning?" I ask bluntly, raising an eyebrow. My father does not seem the least bit shocked by my boldness – after being married to my mother for so many years, he must be used to this kind of attitude. A strange emotion flickers in his eyes – something that I rarely ever see in them. My father looks at me with sympathy, and pulls me into a tight embrace.

"I love you so much, Caspia," he murmurs, using my rarely-used first name. I am usually called 'Casp', but I sense that he has refrained from using my nickname due to the seriousness of the situation. I hesitate for only a moment before I hug him back, and tell him how much I love him, too. He strokes my hair like I'm an animal, and hums an unfamiliar tune under his breath. It feels as though I am five again, and father is trying to soothe a stomach ache or nightmare. The tears almost threaten to spill, but I blink them back and take a deep breath. Today, I must be strong.

"I'm going to get changed," I murmur, gently moving away from my father. I don't mean to be cold, but it's time to be a big girl and face my fate. No matter what happens today, I am going to be just fine. If I am not chosen to participate in the 76th Hunger Games, then everything will definitely be alright, so long as Luchi is not chosen either. And if I _am _chosen, then I will have mother for a mentor and I will win and become both rich and famous. I know that I seem maybe a little too confident, but I can't afford not to be. I've heard so little about the days when my parents competed in the Hunger Games, but Haymitch has told me stories that my parents won't. He said that I am like my mother in many ways – I have a fire in my soul that refuses to be put out. He told me that it was my father who lost his confidence before the Games – that lack of confidence nearly got him killed. I will _not _lose my nerve that way. I will fight, and I will win. And I will come home to Victor's Village, and I will play a game of checkers with Luchi as though I never left at all.

It is noon when my mother finally enters my room – I have not eaten breakfast. I am not sure that my stomach could hold anything down anyway – despite my attitude towards the Reaping, my stomach senses that something is wrong, and refuses to let me eat. I am sitting on my bed when she knocks. I yell for her to come in and she does, looking shaken up and pale, but she is smiling nonetheless. I can tell that it is a forced smile, but I pretend not to notice.

"I was afraid you'd run out on me," I jokingly accuse, chuckling nervously. My mother does not return the chuckle, but rather enters further into my room. She sits next to me on the soft bed, and hugs me without a word. I'm taken aback for a moment, but I return her display of affection. And for nearly half an hour, we just sit this way, embracing tightly and not saying a word. When my mother finally pulls away, I see her drying tears that have fallen from her soft grey eyes. She stands up, and I do the same. She pulls out the wooden chair from my desk, and points for me to sit in it. I do, and she stands behind me, running her fingers through my hair. I notice the transition when she stops merely touching my hair, and instead begins to tug and pull at different parts of it. She is braiding it, and weaving it into a soft crown on my head. I find comfort in her gentle touch, and close my eyes as she finishes. When she is done, I return to my bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror once more. I look a bit more like myself, and I relax. The hairdo is lovely, of course, but I would expect nothing less from my mother. I return to her, and hug her again, thanking her profusely for the wonderful dress and the hair.

"It was nothing," she simply replies, and they're the first words I've heard her speak all morning. I start a bit at the sound, but then relax. Mother's voice is not exactly warming, but the sound of it reminds me of long nights together, when she would sing me to sleep. I wish she would do that now, but I know that she won't, and I know that it's no use asking her to. We exchange no goodbyes, and we give no long, emotional speeches. We merely take each other's hand as we exit my room, and make our way down the hallway. I risk a glance into Luchi's room, and am not surprised to find it empty. Father probably already has him ready downstairs, in his best pair of pants. His curly blonde hair has probably been styled to look somewhat tamed on his head, and his large eyes will probably look up at me, terrified. I will probably shush him, and embrace him tightly. He will probably take comfort in my closeness, and he'll feel a little bit better. I wish that there was more I could do for him, but I am useless in protecting him from the Reaping.

When mother and I come down the stairs, the scene with my little brother plays out just as I thought it would. When we're finally ready to go, we walk closely next to each other. Father holds the door open for mother, Luchi, and me, and a crisp breeze chills us to the bone as we step outside. It's not a particularly cold day, but _my _blood, at least, runs cold with the knowledge that this could be the last time I ever step foot in Victor's Village.

We wait for a moment for Haymitch to emerge from his house a few places down, and I find myself impatient to just go to the Reaping and get it over with. It seems an eternity before Haymitch's old, withered face finally appears, and he gives my family a small smile as he makes his way towards us. I'm told that he used to have a terrible drinking problem, but he shows no signs of it now, just as he hasn't for the last two decades, since the end of the Hunger Games. I wonder if – since the Games are back – he will start drinking again. I have no way of knowing, and am in no position to ask him. I keep my mouth shut as we all begin walking towards the Justice Building of District 12.

My mother and Haymitch must bid us farewell as soon as we reach our destination – they are needed on the temporary stage that has been set up for today's event. Four chairs are placed on the stage, along with a podium and the glass bowls that are already filled to the brim with names. In one bowl, my name is on a folded piece of paper five times, and in the other, Luchi's is on only one. My father kisses both of us gently when we reach the perimeter, as he must stay there while the Reaping takes place. Luchi and I wait in line to be signed in, and when we are, we must say goodbye as well. Luchi hugs me around my waist tightly, being incredibly small for his age. His breathing is ragged, and I can tell that he is trying very hard not to cry.

"Listen to me," I whisper fiercely, bending down so that he can meet my eyes. He does, and I hold his absolute attention as I continue. "Luchi, your name is only entered in that bowl once. _Once_. You will not be picked. I promise. And if you are and I'm not, I will volunteer for whoever _is_, and I will enter that arena with you and protect you. I won't let you die Luchi, I won't."

My words seem to comfort Luchi, and he hugs me one more time before racing off to join the other twelves while I head off to stand by the sixteens. I look up at the stage, to see our Mayor – Mr. Greene – sitting next to my mother and Haymitch. Effie Trinket has only just emerged, donning a vibrant orange dress that is hard to look at. Her hair is plainly not natural – it's underneath an electric orange wig that is curly and tall. She wears a smile on her face, but it is a tired smile, and it is plain she does not want to be here. She looks no different than the last time I saw her, which was nearly six years ago. In fact, she looks as young as my mother. Her young appearance is not shocking in the least – her face is caked underneath so much makeup, you wouldn't be able to see a wrinkle even if there was one. It is painted white, and her eyes and lips are covered in orange to match her hair. She taps the microphone at the podium several times to ensure that it is working, before she clears her throat and announces,

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" Effie makes her way across the stage to one of the bowls, but I don't know how she manages it. The heels she wears are higher than any I have ever seen, and my feet ache just looking at them. She digs her hand through the slips of paper, before finally settling on one and taking it back to the podium with her. "As usual," she says clearly. "Ladies first!" Everyone watching is tense – their fear seems almost tangible. Parents thinking,_ Not my child. Please, not my child. _And children thinking, _Please not me. Anyone but me, please. _My mother is squeezing Haymitch's hand onstage, and he's looking back at her sadly. Effie delays several minutes before she actually manages to unfold the paper and read the name. The crowd is so silent; you can hear a pin drop. I take a deep breath just as Effie says shakily, "C-Caspia Mellark!"

The breath whooshes out of me. The crowd is no longer silent; many of my friends are yelling blasphemies at the Capitol or sobbing. I hear one voice louder than the others – the agonizing cries of Luchi. My father joins him, their shouts echoing off of the shops and buildings that surround the population of District 12. My mother fights to get up and strangle Effie on the stage, but Haymitch grabs her by the shoulders and settles her down, probably telling her that my being called is not Effie's fault. Speaking of Effie, she looks deeply saddened and hurt, as if calling my name has put her in physical pain. She hoarsely says my name once more into the microphone, and I finally free myself of the manic embraces that had begun the moment the first syllable of my first name had been spoken. Two Peacekeepers come on either side of me to make sure that I do not escape, and I confidently make my way to the stage next to Effie. She shares a brief, sorry glance with me for a moment, before she begins to make her way to the second bowl. She must say something before she calls out the other Tribute's name, but I don't hear it. I do hear his name, though. "Perido Porphyry!"

There's a sad reaction to Perido's name being called, but nothing close to the shouts my name had ignited. Perido shakily makes his way from the seventeens, coming quickly enough that Peacekeepers need not follow him. He stands next to me, and we make eye contact for the first time in months. A pang in my heart follows the sad gaze Perido gives me, but I try to ignore it. I would probably be much sadder about having to compete against my best friend if he hadn't broken off all connections with me three months before the Hunger Games were announced to be returning. I don't understand the look he is giving me now – if he is so sad about my potential death, then why had he told me that he never wanted to see me again back in September? I may never know. Because I do not intend to get close with Perido again – that will only cause me pain when I have to lose him in the arena. No, I keep my eyes focused forward, searching the crowd for Luchi. And that's when I realize it – my little brother is safe. He is not going to die in the arena. He will live.

The Mayor stands up then, and politely moves Effie aside so that he may speak at the podium. But I do not hear his words – my eyes are still trained on Luchi, the little boy who is guaranteed at least one more year of life. He meets my eyes, and I can see that he is crying. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but he doesn't seem to be buying it. I give him a small wink instead, and then look through the throngs of people for my father. He seems to be crying a little bit as well, but my smile _does _make him feel a little bit better, and he shakily returns it.

When the Mayor finishes, Perido and I are led into the Justice Building, which is the location where we will say our final goodbyes to our family. As I sit alone, waiting for my father and Luchi, I wonder if – had he not been chosen – Perido would have come to see me off. I doubt it – the way he had so artfully phrased it back in fall made it sound like he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me for a while. But that doesn't explain the look he gave me when his name was called!

My mind has no more time to think, because that's when the door bursts open, and Luchi runs into my arms.

"Casp!" he cries, throwing his arms around me. "Please don't die Casp, please, don't lea-"

"Luchi!" I laugh, carefully removing his arms from my neck. "Relax – I'm going to win this for you. I'm going to win, and I'll be back in my bedroom before the end of June."

"You promise?" Luchi whimpers, holding out his pinky. It seems silly that a twelve year old would be asking for a pinky promise, but I oblige and twist my own pinky with his.

"I promise." I swear. And I do promise – I intend to win the 76th Hunger Games. With my mother and Haymitch to guide me, I _will _win. I have to.

For the next hour, tears are shed between my father, brother and I. But I never break – I know that I will return to them soon enough, and I'll have my mother in the meantime. A Peacekeeper comes into the room and tells us that we only have five more minutes. Before they leave, Luchi gives me one last hug and kiss, and my father reaches into his pocket. What he pulls out is a beautiful golden pin. It's my mother's mockingjay pin, I'm sure of it. He smiles in a secret way, and pins it on the pink dress that I had dressed myself in only a few hours ago.

"This is for you," he says, straightening it out. "To give you strength and courage in the arena – not that you'll need it, Caspia. I know that you can do this."

"I hope so," I tell him, wrapping my arms around my father for one final embrace. As I do this, he whispers in my ear,

"To Caspia Mellark – the girl on fire!"

The words have no meaning whatsoever – I'm sure they do to him, but not to me. Maybe it was some sort of motto from his time in the arena – I wouldn't know. The only things I know about the 74th Hunger Games are the raw basics from my parents and the gory details of the deaths from Haymitch. I wonder if – now that I'll be in my own Games – my mother will finally bring down her wall and tell me about her experience. I hope so. Even though I'm pretty sure I can win, there's always that chance that I won't, and I refuse to die still in the dark about my own parents.


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

I had a much happier childhood than my parents did. I didn't even know what the Hunger Games was until I was seven years old – that's when we started learning about it in school. The teachers told us that the Hunger Games were part of a punishment given to the Districts because of the first Rebellion. Even at that young age, I had a hard time believing it. Punishment was temporary – watching twenty-three children die every year is just torture.

In school, I made friends, great friends, and I was well-liked for the most part. The first person I really got along with was a girl named Lilia Pree. She looked a lot like me, with dark hair and blue eyes. She liked going outside like me, too, and we were on the fast-track to a grand friendship from the beginning. She came over to my house in Victor's Village nearly every day, and mother liked her a lot as well. When we were nine, we met Perido, and we accepted him into the fold easily. It was the three of us – Lilia, Caspia, and Perido. We were inseparable for the longest time. We did everything together –

And then, when we were thirteen, Lilia's parents died.

She did not have any close family in the District. The only way she could have stayed was if she had agreed to live in the community home, which I would not let her do. Her father's parents lived in District 2, so that's where she went. After she left, we spoke on the phone one time. And then I never heard from her again. It was a very sad time to be without my Lilia, but I still had Perido.

Perido and I liked to hunt together – my mother had taught us how, and we were both very good. Long afternoons were spent together in the forest, sipping tea and catching rabbits. Those days with Perido were some of the happiest I can remember.

I never saw it coming, when we grew apart – it just snuck up on me, like the tracker jacker that stung me when I was ten. One moment everything was fine, and then the next, I'm in searing, agonizing pain. The day he 'left me', so to speak, had started out as any other day. I'd told mother that I was going hunting, and Luchi had packed a picnic lunch for Perido and me. I'd kissed him on the forehead, said goodbye to my parents, and bolted out the door.

The electric fence that signals the end of District 12 hardly ever worked, so I easily slipped through it and retrieved my belt of knives from where I'd left them in the hollow of an old willow. I'd crept through the woods and met Perido in our usual place, roughly thirty yards away from where we set up our first round of snares. We'd engaged in small talk for a few moments, before things took a turn for the worse.

"Casp, we need to talk." He'd started out, turning to face me full-front. I was taken aback, but tried not to show it on my face. I could not let Perido see the effect he had on me – not without Lilia around for backup, at least.

"Okay," I agreed, setting down the bottle of water I'd been drinking. "Shoot."

"Things…between us…they're changing." He'd started awkwardly, looking down as he spoke. I raised my eyebrows – this was not the turn I'd expected our conversation to take.

"What do you mean 'changing'?" I asked uncertainly, trying to ascertain what he meant.

"I mean that things between you and I are different, and don't tell me you can't tell!" he'd shouted, and I became angry at his screaming.

"Shut up, will you?" I'd screeched back with equal fervor. "Do you _want _to scare every rabbit in the District?"

"Who cares about the rabbits?" he'd exploded, standing up with anger. He began to pace back and forth, curling his hands into tight fists. His knuckles began to turn white, and I was able to see for the first time just how angry my friend was. But none of it made any sense – why was he taking all of this raw rage out on me? I hadn't done anything to him, at least nothing that I was aware of; it wasn't fair of him to be yelling like this at me.

"Perido, talk to me! You've never had a problem talking before!" I'd pleaded, standing up as well. For a little while, I'd made an attempt to stop his pacing, but it was useless. He was angry and obviously confused, and nothing I could do would help him.

"See what I mean?" he'd asked me a little more soberly. "I never used to have a problem talking to you. But now I do. Things are _changing_."

"But why?" I had asked. This was the first time I had noticed him acting any differently – his actions were not making sense.

"You tell me," he'd said cruelly, looking at me like I was a bug. One of those really big, gross bugs that had to be killed quickly or else it would come after you – like a tracker jacker. Was that all I was to my childhood best friend now? A genetically mutated bee?

"Perido, what is _with _you?" I hissed venomously, giving him my best glare. He didn't even flinch. For a minute, he just looked really, really sad, and he ran a large hand through his tousled blonde hair. He gazed at me for a minute, before saying, "It's over."

"What's over?" I'd asked, not understanding what he meant.

"You and me…this is done, Casp. We can't hang out or talk anymore. I'm done with you."

I still don't understand his actions from that day. As we board the train, I risk another look at Perido. He hasn't changed much over the last few months – his hair is still the messy blonde mop it always was, and the muscles in his arms are just as big – if not bigger – than they always were. Perido is tall – he has at least two feet on me. He has always been good looking, even when we were children. But I had never – and still do not – feel anything more for him than friendship. In fact, I don't even feel _that _for him now. Ever since his mysterious blow up, we've become strangers. I do not even know the boy who meets my gaze now.

Effie meets us onboard, and leads us to the dining cart. My mother and Haymitch are already seated at a table, their plates full, waiting on us. They smile shakily at me as I take the seat in between them, but I can see plainly how forced it is. Mother won't even meet my gaze.

Perido sits as far away from me as possible, taking a seat to the right of Effie, who sits on the other side of the table completely. Effie is going on and on about the opportunities that await us at the Capitol and the speech is so rehearsed and overdone that it could literally bore me to death. Perhaps it's Effie's droning voice that I should be afraid will kill me, not the twenty-three deadly tributes against me.

"And there's a floor for each District, naturally, and I've always _loved _joining District 12, because we get the Penthouse! Oh, and you will just _love _the Training Center, they have so many-"

"You got any special talents, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks me gruffly, cutting Effie off. Haymitch probably knows me better than anyone else in the world – but this is one area of my personality we have never discussed. What was the need? The Hunger Games were over. But now, my answer could mean the difference between life and death. "You good with a bow and arrow, too?"

"I'm okay," I say, not wanting to admit that I'm not nearly as good as my mother. I meet Haymitch's gaze as I tell him what my true passion is. "I've always found that I'm much better at knife throwing."

My answer seems to surprise Haymitch, and he raises his eyebrows. He nods a few times, before a small smile appears on his face. "We can work with that." Then, he turns to Perido. "What about you, boy?"

I try to remember if Perido ever had any kind of physical talent to brag about. Like my father, Perido has always been good at weight-lifting. He's very strong, and that could be his biggest asset. He's fair with the bow and arrow, but not as good as me. He's never even been a little bit good at knife throwing, and he's always too loud to have any hope of hunting the usual way. The only reason he can hunt at all is because he is fast, and can outrun nearly anything that runs in the forests around District 12.

"I'm fast," Perido replies in his low, gruff voice. He's already loading his plate with food, while I haven't even looked at what's being served. "And strong," he continues. "And I'm good at tracking."

Okay, that was true. Perido always seemed to be able to know which way an animal was going to turn next. It was uncanny, sometimes, how he knew things like that. When we used to set snares together, he always told me where to put them, and we never left our hunting trips with nothing to show for them.

"That's good," my mother answers, looking between Perido and myself. "You'll both do well. I think you have as good a chance as anyone to win, especially since there are no Career Tributes."

"What are those?" Perido asks, and I can tell that my mother has piqued his curiosity.

"Back when _I _competed, they trained the Tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 to be lethal killers. Whenever the Reaping came around, these six Tributes always volunteered to be in, and usually won, the Hunger Games. It wasn't easy to take them down."

"But you did," I say, a little bit of pride entering my tone. My mother gives me a small smile.

"Yes. But I'm glad that the two of you won't have to." My mother says. That's the end of the conversations for now, and the five of us begin to eat in silence. All that can be hard is the sound of forks scraping plates and orange juice sloshing around in glass cups whenever we pick them up or put them down.

The rest of the afternoon is strangely boring, and I struggle not to be disappointed. Haymitch and mother aren't really giving us advice, and I have several guesses as to why. Perhaps they do not want Perido to hear what they say to me – perhaps they are starting an early strategy. The possibilities are truly endless, and I don't feel like sitting down to think through all of them. Instead, I try to enjoy the small talk Effie pursues, and I attempt to ignore the longing in Perido's eyes only a few feet away from me.

That evening, the Reapings from the other Districts are edited and broadcasted on live television. Back when the Hunger Games were an annual thing, they would try to stagger the Reapings throughout the day so that a person could technically watch all of them, but of course that was illogical. This morning, they apparently made the announcement on the news that every single Reaping will be shown at 8:00 at night. It is now 7:59. Effie, Haymitch, mother, Perido and I all sit down together to watch them in the compartment of the train that holds the television. I sit in between mother and Haymitch on a couch as I did at dinner, wanting to avoid any and all contact with Perido.

The two Tributes from District 1 look completely and utterly horrified at being chosen – and I'm not surprised. Both of them are only twelve. I can't help but think to myself that it's not fair – that someone should volunteer for children so young. But no one does, and the little girl in red pigtails and the little rat-faced boy are led by Peacekeepers into the Justice Building behind them.

District 2 was easily the most interesting Reaping I've ever seen – not that I've seen many. The speaker announces that she will choose the boy Tribute first, and the name she calls is, "Hugo Sikora!" Hugo Sikora is _enormous_ – the largest boy I have ever seen. The muscles on his arm alone are bigger than my head, and he towers over the mayor who comes to shake his hand. I can't easily guess his age, but he's definitely not a twelve.

The choosing of the girl Tribute is a little bit different – the speaker has some stupid grin on her face, as though she's never experienced anything happier in all her life than choosing two children to kill. She spends a few minutes in the glass bowl to her right, intricately moving her hand through the slips of paper inside of it. She finally settles on one, and moves back to the podium to read it out loud. In an annoyingly high pitched voice, the woman shouts through the microphone, "Lilia Pree!"

My heart stops and my blood runs cold. I might be able to avoid Perido, but that certainly will not be the case with Lilia. I watch in absolute horror as the crowd parts around her, and she steps uncertainly onto the stage in front of the District 2 Justice Building. She looks so different in some ways, but also a little bit the same. Her hair is still dark – pulled back into a dark braid like mine usually is. She has grown taller, and her lips are a little bit fuller. She is beautiful – and almost a copy of me. Never before have I ever met someone in my entire life that looks so much like I do. We could be twins – sisters for real. The mayor shakes Lilia's hand, too, and then she and Hugo are led into the building behind them.

I cease watching the Reapings from this point on, and my mother and Perido seem to as well. My mother is looking at me, worry evident in her eyes. Perido is still staring at the screen that Lilia has just appeared on, even though her Reaping is over. I know that somewhere, on another train, Lilia has just watched herself bravely accept her fate, and I can only imagine the expression on her face when she discovers that not only have Perido and I been picked for the Hunger Games – we are also no longer on speaking terms. I clutch my chest, and look around me in disbelief. Effie Trinket does not seem to notice that a thing is wrong.

I get up from the couch angrily, and stalk out of the compartment. I make my way to my own room, where I collapse on my bed and sob. It is the first time I have allowed myself to cry since I was chosen for the Games. I cry for many reasons, all of them bombarding me at once.

I cry for the two twelves from District 1 who will almost certainly die in this pageant. I cry for my little brother and my father, who are probably sick with worry. I cry for my mother and Haymitch, who are probably reliving more than they'd like to in helping me with the Hunger Games. I cry for Perido, who I used to regard as a brother but who now can't even speak to me. I cry for Lilia, who was once my sister and best friend but who now I must think of as my enemy. And I cry a little bit for myself and the fear that is growing in my soul.

I don't expect anyone to try to come in and comfort me, and no one does. They all know me, or if they don't, someone who does will have told them – I like to be alone when I'm upset. I need silence to be able to concentrate on the situation at hand, and I don't like being comforted and babied. I'm old enough to be able to take care of myself – my mother did when she was my age, and I'm just as strong as she is.

Night comes and goes, and in the morning, I feel that I'm stable enough to join the others for breakfast. To my surprise, my mother is the only one who sits at the table. There is food on her plate, but she does not eat it. She just stares at me as I walk in, and I sense that she wants to have a conversation.

"I don't feel like talking," I grumble quietly, taking the farthest seat away from my mother. She raises an eyebrow, and continues to look at me as I begin to load my plate with food. As I take the first bite, I find that she is still staring at me. I can't very easily eat with that uncomfortable gaze on me the entire time, so I sigh, and set down my fork. "What?" I snap.

"I know you're upset about Lilia," she states quietly, looking at me with concern. I try to make my face indifferent, but I don't know if I am successful. "And I know that you want to reconnect with her – but you mustn't do that, Casp."

"And why not?" I ask venomously. I do not mean to sound so harsh, but I can't help it.

"You know why not," my mother says, and I can tell that she does not wish to say the words. But I make her, not dropping my gaze until she continues. "She's your enemy now, Caspia. You'll be thrown into the arena with her, and if someone else doesn't kill her, you'll have to. I know how much you love her, but you have to avoid getting close to her, just like you're doing with Perido. Alliances aren't worth it in the Hunger Games – there can only be one victor."

I snort, and roll my eyes. My mother has no right to tell me these things – not when she and my father made it out together. "That's ironic, coming from you." I say, eyeing her down. "And you don't understand what I have with Lilia – she was my sister from the time we were young. I loved her, and then she left. You never had a sister – you don't understand. I can't kill her any more than I can reach across the table and hurt you."

Pain flickers through my mother's eyes, and I wonder what it is that she's not telling me. She looks down at the tablecloth, and I feel as though I've never seen her look so sad, not even when she wakes up from her nightmares in the middle of the night and shrieks for my father to run. I understand that the Hunger Games left its mark on her – it leaves its mark on all of its victors. But it seems different now – now, my mother seems just downright depressed. I ask her quietly to tell me what the matter is. She finally looks up to meet my eyes, and she smiles sadly. "Caspia," she murmurs quietly. "I think it's time I told you about Prim."


End file.
